Float
by hollyentirely
Summary: "They were all of them much too used to death by now-for even with their over exposure to Death's cold hand, none of them had ever thought it would touch Luna in a way that was so very, very regular. She was crying." A snapshot of Xenophilius' passing.


Float

Xenophilius Lovegood had never been the same after Azkaban. When Harry and Ron Retrieved him after the War, bedraggled and weary-eyed as they were after days spent tirelessly casting Patronus after Patronus to keep the Dementors at bay as they released all Muggleborns from their captivity in the infamous prison, Xenophilius had looked at them curiously.

"Are you here for Althea's experiment?" he asked. "Be sure you mind the dirigible plums. The last test subjects trod on them."

Harry and Ron had looked at him sadly and said nothing as they gently pulled one arm over each of their shoulders.

"We're here to take you home, Mr. Lovegood," said Harry, adjusting Xenophilius' arm so that the pus-filled sores he could see festering in the older man's armpits wouldn't be bothered. "To see Luna. You remember Luna?"

Xenophilius' eyes sparked briefly, and he looked eagerly to Ron, despite Harry having been the one to mention his daughter's name.

"Luna?" he asked the tall young man. "You know my Luna?"

Ron looked startled at having been asked a question Mr. Lovegood should have known the answer to, and slowly nodded. "Er…yeah. I do," he said finally. "She's waiting for you back in…back home."

Neither Harry nor Ron wanted to mention to the obviously fragile man the state of his home after the Death Eaters had finished with it. Luna had taken one look and determined it could be fixed as long as they planted enough heather around it for luck. She had been busily troweling the earth around the base of the demolished house when they had left, but she had agreed to meet them at the Burrow after they Retrieved her father. The caticornered old house had become the unofficial reunion place for many families torn apart by war, and the subtle scent of Molly Weasley's tea had become the best-or worst-remembered smell in Britain during the week after the Final Battle, as many a hopeful soul waited for news from one of her many family members.

They were all helping with the Retrieval efforts, as they had come to call the missions to find those still in hiding after Voldemort's fall. Lee Jordan and George were diligently providing names of those Retrieved every night on Potterwatch, and they all ventured out with partners every day to attempt to locate anyone stranded by the events of the past year.

Xenophilius had been one of the first, of course, and one of the most tragic. No one said it when he was first Retrieved, but they all knew: Xenophilius Lovegood would never be the same after Azkaban.

Luna lived with him for three years after the War. He nearly constantly called her Althea towards the end, and she'd had to stop him from trampling the heather now growing in abundance around the barely-repaired house because he was convinced it was Poisonous ElderFlower, the substance Althea had used to disastrous consequences in her final experiment.

But even though they all saw her on more than one occasion after a particularly bad day of Xenophilius', not one of them was prepared for the unresisting look of absolute despair that emanated from their dear friend Luna's eyes when she came to inform them of his passing.

"Daddy is dead," she proclaimed, very quietly, to the room full of her friends in Neville and Seamus' room they were renting above the Leaky Cauldron. Her announcement had been met with perhaps more shock than any other death since the days of the War-they were all of them much too used to death by now-for even with their over exposure to Death's cold hand, none of them had ever thought it would touch Luna in a way that was so very, very regular.

She was crying.

It was not quiet, or pretty, or quirky. She did not mention the whimsical world she had built behind all their other friends' deaths, where Colin lived in the flashes of every camera that ever went off in the world, and Fred wove his way between the gaps of the world's laughter and Dumbledore twinkled in the candles of the Great Hall on Feast Day.

She only cried. And none of them had ever seen Luna Lovegood cry before. Her tears were just as tiny and catching as anyone else's.

The girls ushered her to the couch, where she laid her head upon Hermione's chest and Ginny held her other hand while Hannah stroked her hair and whispered comfort into her ear. Harry, Ron and Neville retrieved the Firewhiskey from the cupboard. Harry laid out the glasses on the table and Neville poured, while Ron flicked his wand to light the tip and set each shot to flaming.

It was the toast they had invented the first time they met after the War, and they had drunk to it for every lost soul discovered ever since.

No one uttered a word as they lifted their glasses and met each other's eyes. Names did not need to be spoken.

_To Xenophilius LovegoodI_, they thought together, and tipped their heads back to pour the drinks down their throats.

They poured another round and levitated the glasses over to the girls.

"Here you go, Luna," Neville said softly, retrieving her limp hand from where it lay lifelessly upon her thigh. Ginny continued to clutch the other and stroke the back of it softy with her thumb. He wrapped her fingers around the glass and lifted it towards her mouth. "This will help."

Luna stared blankly at the flickering shot in her hand before looking up to meet Neville's eyes. She searched everyone's faces in the room and then looked back to the flame in her hand. Her sobs were slowing only slightly.

"It's s-sun c-c-colors," she whispered, before desperately looking around again. "E-everyone h-has to wear s-s-sun colors to-to the f-f-f-funeral. D-Daddy would have w-wanted it, s-s-since he's seeing Mummy ag-gain."

She looked terrified they would say no, and seemed to be holding her breath. None of them took their eyes off their dear, sweet friend Luna as they nodded their heads.

She smiled radiantly up at them through her tears before lifting her glass.

"To Daddy," she said, and they all murmured agreement before tipping their own glasses back.

Two days later, after Madam Malkin put in an unexpected rush-order for more bright yellow fabric from the only company she could find still selling yellow during the month of February, the well-practiced officiating Wizard leading the funeral squeaked in surprise at the mass of brightly churning people walking up the hill towards him. At the front, Luna skipped happily, trailing two, engorged, lazily floating dirigible plums by their roots behind her.

She reached the little wizard, who mumbled, "I say…" before she extracted a trowel from her pocket and dug a careful hole at the base of her beloved father's headstone. She gently lowered the cluster of one of the roots to the hole, and waited from them to take root, before moving to the headstone next to her and repeating the action.

_Xenophilius Lovegood_

_Beloved Husband, Father and Friend_

_"Live on_

_Believe on_

_March on"_

_Althea Lovegood_

_Beloved Wife, Mother and Wonderer_

_"Anything is possible_

_You've only to try"_

She sighed happily through watery eyes as the plums slowly floated towards one another and intertwined their vines, before looking up to the officiating Wizard.

"Hello," she said, brushing her hair from her eyes. "We are here to celebrate Daddy's life. Are you ready?"

The wizard wasn't quite sure he was, but as he saw the rest of the people dressed in yellow on the hill begin removing various items from their pockets and looking to set up for some time to come in what seemed to be the most eclectic party the man had ever seen, he decided he'd just have to try.


End file.
